


What Castiel Did With The First Blade

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels Bullied Castiel, Angels are Dicks, Angst, Angst and Feels, Castiel Has Secrets, Castiel Has Stolen Grace, Castiel In Love, Castiel Loves Dean, Castiel's Hiding Place, Castiel's Thoughts, Castiel-centric, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Trusts Castiel, Feels, First Blade, Friendship/Love, Heaven's Treatment Of Castiel, Hiding, Hiding the First Blade, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Love, M/M, Mark of Cain, No Dialogue, OTP Feels, One Shot, Outcast Castiel, POV Castiel, Pining, Pining Castiel, Post-Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Protective Castiel, Stolen Grace, Swiss Alps, Switzerland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean kills Cain and hands over the First Blade to Castiel, where does he go? What does he do with it? This one-shot features my headcanon that Castiel has a secret hiding place used to escape in the old days when he was bullied by the Host of Angels and so painfully aware of being an outcast in Heaven. There in his sanctuary, he considers his past and future with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Castiel Did With The First Blade

Sometimes Castiel has trouble believing it. Dean Winchester actually chose him over and over again, no matter what darkness got thrown between them. He stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving as the broken shell of a man handed over the First Blade to him, trusting him to keep it safe--to keep each other safe.

A darker thought crossed Castiel's ancient mind. Dean only trusted the angel to turn the blade back on him should the Mark of Cain send him spiraling out of control. Dean couldn't stomach the idea of handing his life over to someone else, not even his brother. He knew Sam wouldn't do it, nor would he be strong enough to weather that storm if it came down to spilling his own brother's blood. There would be no deals, no negotiations, no last-minute magic. It would have to be swift and exact before Dean became the monster he so feared. Only Castiel, in his mind, loved him enough to honor that black wish even if the love remained unspoken.

No, it was never that way for Castiel before Dean Winchester needed a savior from Hell. The Heavenly host had actually snickered to each other when he stood tall and declared that he could storm the Gates of Hell and raise the Righteous Man from perdition.

He'd never told Dean or Sam just how much of an outsider he'd always been in Heaven, of course, but sometimes Dean came close to guessing. It had stunned the hunter to realize Castiel had never experienced carnal relations even though scores of other angels routinely gave in to their curiosity, for example. And he never knew why at the time but he couldn't bring himself to say that fact made him a target of ridicule in Heaven just the way humans seemed to be ridiculed for their virginity after a certain age on Earth. Eight million years was a long, long time, though. The moment finally came when he fell from grace, yet it left him empty and, somehow, ashamed that Dean had borne witness to his horrifying choices. She wasn't Dean either--a fact that he couldn't escape even if his human body responded as if utterly starved for touch.

Things changed so suddenly when Dean appeared in his life that he hardly had a moment to take it all in and realize that he'd been fundamentally altered at his core. Not even God was supposed to be able to go that far but Dean had without even knowing it. The other angels saw it. At first, they turned on him, violently so, after millennia of ridicule for being so different from the rest of them. When they realized Dean had real power in the universe and that power extended by the association of a consort to Castiel, fear and violence shifted to stares of awe and a mythic reputation that he didn't think he deserved. He knew Dean had no idea Heaven recognized them as each other's consorts despite the jabs from various loud-mouthed angels. It wasn't Castiel's place to feed into their assumptions either, although, he admitted, a pleasurable warmth spread through his chest when they assumed Dean belonged to him. If he could make it so....

Castiel sat atop a mound of snow high up in the Swiss Alps, far beyond the endurance of human lungs, at the mouth of a cave no man had ever seen. He pulled the First Blade from the interior of his coat and ran his fingertips along the edge of the grotesque weapon. It thrummed with blackness. To angels, it repulsed and only Castiel's diminishing grace made it bearable to hold. To Dean, it felt like the best booze, sex, and freedom all rolled up into one sinful addiction. He considered trying to destroy the thing but stopped short of the impulse, knowing he might have to do the unthinkable one day--kill the only thing he'd ever truly loved.

Closing his eyes, Castiel tilted his face toward the sky. Snow began falling, swirling around him, whipping the edges of his coat against his legs. He tried to imagine the scene. There Dean was in his reverie, black-eyed and frothing with the lust to spill blood, not caring who spilled it. Castiel would have to subdue him with the last of his angelic strength and finally drive the grotesque weapon through his chest wall, crunching his ribs into jelly, and penetrating his heart. The weight of the body would slump in his arms. Perhaps the last of Dean's humanity would resurface in the dying light of his eyes as he stared up at the angel who had rescued him from Hell. The last thing Dean would see was Castiel's face. The last thing Dean would hear was Castiel's low voice turning even more gravelly with emotion as he reassured him.

And then, with some luck, Castiel's grace would die out after such an exertion. He would die soon after, spared of experiencing the emptiness of life without Dean in it.

A frigid gust of mountain wind pulled Castiel out of his dark reverie. He endeavored day in and day out to prepare himself for the inevitable. He had to be strong enough to do the one thing Dean entrusted with him that Sam had never questioned, but every time he pictured the scenario, it ended with wet streaks running from his eyes. That was the human seeping through--the human that Dean had taught him to be. Except there, high in the Swiss Alps, the tears froze on his face as if affixing a permanent reminder of his approaching loss.

Castiel trudged through the snow and entered the blackened cave. A flick of his hand sparked the torch he'd mounted to the rock wall two centuries before when he first adopted the place as his sanctuary. Chests of human artifacts stood in piles around the cave floor. Tapestries from various medieval empires decorated the walls, along with a few paintings the great masters of old had unknowingly gifted to an angel during their lifetimes. He knew he was a collector of humanity but bringing the First Blade into his space somehow tainted it. There was no choice if he meant to hide it from Dean, from Heaven, from Hell, and from every monster in between. His cave of human treasures was the only place he knew to be utterly secret.

One day, Castiel thought as he put the grotesque weapon into one of his storage chests, he might have to use it on the one he loved.

But not today.

Not before he convinced Dean to hold on for the sake of loving him.


End file.
